


& yes these hands of mine

by starsaregoingout (abovetheruins)



Category: Bill Skarsgard - Fandom, Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Humor, Other, Reader-Insert, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 00:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19240444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/starsaregoingout
Summary: It's been months since the night he'd staggered in bruised and singed around the edges but otherwise whole, and in the privacy of your own mind, where you've run through one disastrous scenario after another, versions of that night where Axe never came home at all, you're grateful for every reminder that he's still in one piece.





	& yes these hands of mine

**Author's Note:**

> Haven’t written a reader-insert in a long while but I finally sat down and watched Deadpool 2, fell in love with this asshole, and 800 words later, here we are.
> 
> Totally disregards a certain wood chipper-related mishap, because you can’t make me fall for a character and then kill him off two minutes later. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think and if you’d be interested in seeing more!

You're fucking around on your phone, fighting lethargy with mindless entertainment when you hear the front door creak.

You hide a sleepy grin in the pillow you've propped your head on, scrolling through another cluttered social media feed without really seeing any of it while you listen to the familiar thud of heavy boots hitting the carpet, muffled grumbling broken by a yawn, the squeak of the bedroom door -

" _Oof_." You wheeze as a heavy weight settles across your back, your phone falling from slack fingers. "Axe," you half-groan, half-laugh, wiggling futilely beneath his body. "Gettof." 

Axel grunts, not budging an inch. Stubborn asshole.

You buck your hips, though you're honestly not trying very hard to dislodge him. He's not even that heavy, though the long, lanky length of his body covers yours completely. He smells like ink and sweat and faintly of smoke - cigarette smoke, from whichever of his clients indulge in the habit. The scent makes your nose wrinkle, but you prefer it to the acrid stench of fire and blood and soot that had coated him after his first (and last) attempt at heroism. 

It's been months since the night he'd staggered in bruised and singed around the edges but otherwise whole, and in the privacy of your own mind, where you've run through one disastrous scenario after another, versions of that night where Axe never came home at all, you're grateful for every reminder that he's still in one piece. 

"You're heavy," you huff, just to be a little shit, anyway.

"Deal with it," Axel huffs right back, long arms wiggling between you and the mattress to wrap around your waist. His cheek lolls against the ball of your shoulder, his breath fanning against the nape of your neck. No mouthguard, then. You prefer it that way, always have. You like the look on his face when you sneak a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the way he'll glare, half-scolding and half-heated. _Reckless_ , he'll call you, slipping his mouthguard back into place with a pointed look. 

Says the guy who tossed himself out of a plane. 

"At least let me turn over," you grumble, exasperated. 

A brush of lips through the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. You shiver, but not from fear. Never from fear. 

"No one’s stoppin' you, sweetheart," he says, voice low and tinged with amusement. 

It takes some effort, but you manage to wriggle onto your back beneath Axel's dead weight, huffing in annoyance when all you get for your troubles is a pair of dancing eyes above a crooked smirk. 

"Dick." 

Axel's lips twitch. It really is a damn shame you can't kiss them. Well, you could, technically speaking, if you felt like risking a nasty acid burn. It'd almost be worth it, you think longingly, even as you watch them curl into a self-satisfied smile. 

"Such a mouth on you," Axel murmurs, tapping an ink-stained finger against your lips. You make a grab for his hand, curling your fingers through his and using the loose grip to drag his palm to your mouth. 

You love Axel's hands, have spent more time than you can measure just admiring them. You've been caught, too, more than once, though at this point you've lost all shame about it. They deserve to be admired: every callus, each long, slender finger, every blunt, ink-stained nail and knuckle. 

You love to watch them work, wielding needle and ink with a dexterity that never fails to remind you of a dance, graceful and sure. You’ll never tell Axe that, of course, knowing he’d only scoff or laugh at the sentiment, but it’s true nonetheless.

You love watching them work on _you_ , too, whether it's in pursuit of winding you up or simply pulling you close. Axel tends to do both as often as he can.

He enjoys it – touching you. Softly, firmly, lightly. Harder, when desperation grips you both. Touch like that carries a lot of weight behind it when kissing is off the table. 

Not that that's ever stopped you. You might have to avoid his mouth, but there's nothing preventing you from pressing your own soft, unhurried kisses to Axel's palm, across the ridge of his knuckles, against the pads of his fingertips. 

You're no superhero, but as you watch Axel's eyes turn liquid and dark, his Adam's apple bobbing in a rough swallow, you wonder if this is what it feels like, having a power that no one else in the world possesses and knowing exactly how to use it.

Only for good, of course. Only for this: Axel's fingers twitching against your cheek, his eyelids falling heavily over dark, hungry eyes, lips parting around the syllables of your name -

You grin against the warmth of his palm, lips dragging along his skin and blood fizzing as he shudders.

Yeah, there's nothing in the world as good as this.


End file.
